


His Days of Insomnia

by qwaszxedc9



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Brook-torture, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, Heavy Angst, Post-Thriller Bark, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, floating narrative
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1605182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwaszxedc9/pseuds/qwaszxedc9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brook is the new nakama of the Strawhat crew. Isn't he? How does he adjust to knowing that there are and there will be nakama beside him? Or is this just his imagination?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! Qwaszxedc9 here!
> 
> Thanks for clicking on this! I'm grateful to you all! :D
> 
> I'm very sorry but I will not be updating very often for now. There's this demon called Exams roaming around and I must do battle. After I purge this demon, I will update very quickly! I might change the number of days for my title. It's still in working progress. Any suggestions are welcome.
> 
> I own nothing but what I create here. Enjoy!
> 
> Edited as of 06/12/2013 with thanks to awesome beta-reader Brunetta6!
> 
> Reconstructed as of 05/01/2013 with thanks to Creative Advisor and Beta-Reader Brunetta6.
> 
> (Originally posted on fanfiction.net)

East Thriller Bark: Day 1 – 10.45am

His half-empty tea cup rested gently on his lap. It felt as if there was too much to do, too much to see, too much to enjoy.

It felt... peaceful... surreal...

Maybe, he thought, it didn't feel surreal, but was surreal. Somehow, he figured, the tight clutches of sleep might release him from this torture, to be able to see, feel, experience joys he knew would disappear soon.

Would it?

Would it disappear too?

Just like before… when he watched his captain and his crew fade away into the black, foggy sea?

What do you think, Laboon? he sighs. That fist sized shell, it weighs so heavily in his skull. Like a stone, a rock. Their last song.

Will it be delivered now? Or is this grass, this wood, this new ship, this new crew, is it another dream? Yet another fragment of his brutal imagination within his craving mind? A vicious hallucination? Those fifty years, alone, desperate dreams of his nakama within his traitorous mind haunting him every other day. Now he has new dreams, a new group of nakama...

Are they also simply within his mind?

Was the young, vibrant captain he had pledged his life to yet another piece of his fickle imagination? It's really realistic. He's impressed at how far his mind will go to haunt him.

He remains still, seated neatly on the bench beside the main mast. The sun rose hours ago. With his tea cup lifted, trails of steam floating up, his hollow eyes trail from the cup to the trio bouncing past, playing catch or something.

He stares.

"Brook! Come play with us~!" the captain yells. The two at his side nod furiously.

He stares.

He smiles.

"Yohohoho~! Of course, Luffy-san!" he grins, setting his half-empty cup down onto the bench.

He shall enjoy this dream while he can. It will disappear soon anyway.

* * *

Day 1 – 12.30pm

It's a wonder, this aquarium. The shimmering gold shining on the bed of the aquarium, like tiny little snakes wriggling across the surface and the bottom of the tank. Countless glimmering, elegant fish sliding and gliding around in their clear shimmering surroundings, all of a variety of colors, shapes, sizes. Different shades of green and red seaweed dance and sway gracefully, parting slightly as the fish glide through their leaves. Such a sensational view surrounding the little room… it almost makes him jealous he couldn't swim.

He blinks.

Looking closely, the skeleton notices a group of oddly-coloured and oddly-shaped fish, strange liquid or ink swirling around them. He moves closer. Ah, those odd fishes are squids and poisonous sea creatures. Said dangerous marine life seemed to be surrounding the sniper – who was swimming in the beautiful aquarium – enclosing the sniper in a circle of odd creatures, much like a target of sorts.

He strolls over, placing a bony hand over the polished glass.

"...Ah, Robin-san? Those dangerous creatures seem to be about to ambush Usopp-san, and Luffy-san seems to be cheering them on..." he called, jaw dropping slightly as the poisonous squid seemed to strengthen their ring of defense.

"Oh, no need to worry. These things happen all the time," the archaeologist states smoothly, not even glancing up as elegant fingers flipped a page.

Those creatures launched onto the sniper, wrapping the entire sniper in black and purple.

"Erm... Robin-san, they seem to have ambushed Usopp-san."

Nonetheless, he watched as the sniper struggled fruitlessly, barely visible, within the huge cocoon of poisonous sea creatures.

Splash!

He watches as the captain sinks to the bottom of the aquarium, bubbles escaping from the mouth and arms twitching lightly. The rubber man was slowly sinking towards the bed, swirling bubbles surrounding the fellow hammer.

"Ah. Luffy-san seems to have fallen in."

Clink! Thump! Splash!

"Ah... Zoro-san seems to have fallen in as well!" he adds, placing his bony face closer to the glass.

The swordsman rushed towards the sinking captain, grabbing his collar and swinging the captain out through the trapdoor. Swimming toward the sniper, he pulled one foot back and slammed it into the cocoon of sea creatures, shooting the sniper out through the trapdoor together with a few wriggling sea creatures. A girlish shriek was heard.

"See? Nothing to worry about," the archaeologist states, smiling gently as graceful fingers turned yet another page.

He stares.

Then he smiles.

Of course. No worries. Absolutely nothing to worry about.

There's no one there to die, after all.

* * *

Day 1 – 10.30pm

Sleep seemed distant, too far, even though the others are already ready to nod off.

He should be feeling sleepy. Why does he not? It has been weeks since he last felt sleepy. Or slept.

Maybe this was his mind's way of telling him that this was but a dream? That none of it was real? After all, you don't feel sleepy in dreams. Or sleep.

A sleepy navigator shoved a bunch of straws into his face. "Brook... Draw a straw... We need to figure out who's taking which watch…"

He stared.

"Of course, Nami-san. Excuse me, but may I see your pa-" he managed to grasp a straw, before he was bodily hurled across the deck by an angry, high-heeled foot.

"As if!" the navigator screeched, before walking up to him and snatching his straw. She paused for a moment. "Kay, you got third watch, just before sunrise. Zoro should wake you up after his second watch," she stated before stomping away, presumably to assign all the watches over the next few days and then go to sleep.

He sat down on the bench, half-empty tea cup seated beside him as he watched his supposed nakama before him. He smiled… then shifted over to pull out a violin. Music was his joy, laughter and his support. He should make his dream a tad bit more enjoyable. He lifted his arm.

"Yohohoho~! Allow me to play a lullaby for everyone!"

He pulled his arm back gently.

The deck resounded with soft, soothing melodies. The entire crew slowed down their movements, enjoying the music, but lethargically making their way to bed. Soon, the deck was empty of all but the sniper, who had the first watch, and the swordsman… who had already fallen asleep against the railing. Of course.

He continued playing for a while, listening to the melody calm his own nerves. Soon he finished, and the violin was silenced. The sniper, sensing that the piece was over, yawned so wide his jaws creaked and climbed up onto the crow's nest to begin his watch.

Meanwhile, the skeleton placed his violin aside, then silently crossed the grass lawn. Sleep was still as cruel as ever, not allowing him the luxury of feeling the least bit tired.

He entered the men's cabin, quiet as death, and crawled into a hammock. Maybe if he tried to sleep, he might finally wake. The false hope that this mere accompaniment might be real was eating away at him.

He stared at the ceiling. Black and dark shapes were all that could be seen by the eye.

Though he had none, some part of his brain joked.

Though he had no brain~! Yohohoho...

He stared.

The door slid open, what sounded like the sniper's clumsy shoes tiptoed in, trying to be silent but failing quite miserably. That didn't hinder anyone's sleep, fortunately, and the sniper climbed into the lower hammock, asleep within seconds. On his side, he listens to the quiet, of the crew, along with an occasional mumble of unintelligible sleep talk, as well as several different pitches of snoring.

The ceiling was still gazing at him with shadowy forms.

He stared back.

His mind still wouldn't let him wake. He knew if this dream continued any longer, he might not be able to take it when he finally awoke. Sleep herself saw it fit to oversee his torture.

He stared.

Third watch should be right around now, so why hasn't the swordsman come to wake him?

He sat up, slid over his covers and landed lightly onto the ground. Taking great care not to make any noise, he slid over the cabin floor and gently tugged at the door handle. The cool night breeze caressed his bones the moment he stepped out; he glanced around, before moving to climb up to the crow's nest, pushing the trapdoor open.

It was brightly lit. The swordsman was snoring against the window, drooling uncouthly down the pane.

He smiles, looking to the brightening horizon.

The sun should rise soon. He wonders how long dreams can last.

* * *

**Reviews are like cookies**

**They taste good,**

**feel good,**

**make you addicted to them**

**and encourage you to work faster.**


	2. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brook is the new nakama of the Strawhat crew. Isn't he? How does he adjust to knowing that there are and there will be nakama beside him? Or is this just his imagination?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! Qwaszxedc9 here! I took a while! And here's the next chapter! XD
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Edited as of 06/12/2013 with thanks to awesome beta-reader Brunetta6! (She's so awesome. XD)
> 
> Reconstructed as of 05/01/2013 with thanks to Creative Advisor and Beta-Reader Brunetta6.
> 
> (Originally posted on fanfiction.net)

Day 2 – 7:15am

The sky glowed orange, tinted with hints of red within dark blue.

Leaning against a window, he watches.

The sun is rising. The crew has already began trailing out of the cabins one by one; the cook being the earliest to rise, followed by the navigator and the archaeologist, the former immediately checking their course.

He stares… and yawns.

How realistic. The sunrise. It's bright.

The rest of the crew trickles out through the door, the shipwright yelling about a SUPER night's rest, the doctor sleepily trotting over to the infirmary, the sniper and the captain bursting out of the door, the latter yelling about breakfast.

How very detailed.

"Nami-swan~! Robin-chwan~! Breakfast is ready~!" the cook swoons and noodles around, bubbling with visible hearts.

"You shitheads can come eat too," the chef casually adds, lighting up a cigarette, seeming unwilling and forced, though the musician knew otherwise.

He vaguely notices shuffling behind him. The swordsman is already up.

"Let's go. The prissy cook is gonna start bitching if we're late…" the green-haired illusion yawns, hands already opening the trapdoor.

He stares… and smiles.

"Of course, Zoro-san." he replies.

* * *

Day 2 – 9.15am

It seemed even in nightmares there are silver linings.

Now, the particular silver lining would be breakfast. Breakfast with the Strawhats was always incredibly entertaining. It was always a battle of offence and defense that determined whether or not you could eat to your fill. Should concentration be lost for but a moment, you would find your plate cleared.

Unless, of course, you were a lady.

Rubber hands seemed to crawl to every corner of the table, snatching up any unguarded bits of food. Many a times those hands breached the not-so-solid defenses of the crew. The male portion of the crew, he noticed, unintentionally piled more than enough food for themselves onto their plate.

Far more than enough.

They didn't seem to notice.

He turned to glance at the plate next to him, which belonged to the archaeologist, and was wonderfully decorated to finest detail, complete with thin, juicy slices of sweet oranges. "Excuse me, Robin-san. Your plate seems much more bountiful. Would you mind exchang–?"

He didn't managed to finish his sentence before an iron-forced kick slammed directly onto his skull. "Eat your own portion! There are seconds!"

The furious yell from the cook seemed slightly muffled from the kick, and the fact that he's lying on the ground. "How harsh~!" Brook screeched, watching as the rest of the crew broke out in laughter. The captain especially loudly, with a mouthful of food, or two mouthfuls.

He sat back up, and paused. His plate was now empty. Even his half-empty tea cup.

"Ehh…! The food disappeared!" he screeched in bewilderment, though he had a very good idea where the food went.

"Shishishi...! That was good!" the captain smiled through several mouthfuls of food.

A black shoe dug into the rubber captain's face. "You eat your own portion too! Stop stealing!" the cook shouted, placing that heavy foot down.

"No way! I want more food!" the captain whines.

Through the bickering between the cook and the captain, Brook yawns, only barely.

"Musician-san, are you tired?" the archaeologist beside him asks, sharp eyes curious and perhaps with a hint of worry. He smiles brightly.

"Yohohoho~! No worries! I'm perfectly fine!" he laughs, waving his arms cheerfully.

None of this is real, none of it will ever be, his mind reminds him.

But he ignores it. Instead, he picks up his guitar. It would be nice if it lasted longer. "Yohohoho~! How about a tune to go along with this lovely meal?" he suggests, holding up his guitar.

The captain beams. "Play Bink's Sake! I like that one!" he shouts enthusiastically.

"Yohohoho. Certainly." Brook beams, and begins playing. So much warmth, so much joy, so much care.

This dream is a little saddening, to be honest.

* * *

Day 2 – 6.30pm

The evening sky is, to say the least, breathtaking.

The orange, glowing streaks painted across the sky along with light shades of purple and dabs of red and yellow in the dark blue background of the sky. Fluffy, darkening yet glowing clouds swirled around, surrounding the soft, round orange glow of the setting sun. Long wiggling lengths of lights danced over the surface of the sea, glittering the water surface. A long, swift breeze tugged at his afro, caressing invisible, cool fingers against his bones.

How surprising. He never thought himself that imaginative, to be able to paint such a beautiful scenery within his mind.

He stared.

Lifting his arms, he snatched his top hat out of the air, where the wind had playfully carried it off for its amusement.

The captain was not so lucky. "Boshi!" ...Splash!

"Ah, Luffy! You'll drown!" SPLASH! ...Isn't the little doctor a hammer?

"Oi, you idiots!" Clanging of swords thrown against wood, and yet another splash.

"Shitty bastards!" Rustle of a jacket, thumping of shoes against grass and yet one more splash.

In less than three seconds, four men had gone overboard. What a surprise. The archaeologist was right; things like this did happen all the time! Yohoho~!

He strolls over to the railing and peers over. There was no one in sight. Somehow the waters didn't seem as dazzling as before.

No worries, he tells himself.

They can't die if they're not alive.

"Oi, Brook... You okay?" the sniper asks. He was sitting beside the railing, relaxed, as if there weren't any worries that those overboard might die.

Well, he supposed, that might be true. Fragments of one's imagination aren't real enough to die. Fade maybe, but not die.

He smiles.

This incident reminds him so clearly of that fond, and slightly... irritating, memory of his wondrous experience in the sea after eating that, at that point of time, utterly useless devil fruit. Him spinning around and tripping, Yorki yelling at him about idiotic hammers and useless devil fruits. He remembers it clearly, like it was yesterday.

When did that happen? Was it yesterday?

But many years have since passed, he thought. Years since they had to abandon their captain and those others to sail the calm-

It doesn't matter. It is but a memory.

Or maybe it wasn't? It was growing difficult to separate reality, imagination, fiction and dreams. Or were they all the same thing?

The skeleton stares at the two crew members swimming back towards the ship with the captain and the doctor in tow, yelling at the others for rope – or in the cook's case, swooning at the ladies to fall in love with his bravery and asking if they loved him, even in the water.

He stares down, watching the waves frolic around in their clear blue paradise. That time when he had fallen in, Yorki had jumped in immediately after, scooping him up from deep underwater and yelling at him for turning into such a dumbass hammer.

Maybe he should just fall in again, on the off chance Yorki might just come after him.

Mmmmm… no, that wouldn't do.

That might just banish him from this wonderful dream his mind had so _thoughtfully_  conjured. And abandon him in that dark, dark mist.

He watches as the crew members climb up the rope. He knows he would wake up soon. Dreams are but dreams. They never last.

The cook kicks the captain into the wall, the navigator yelling at the top of her voice about idiotic hammers and dumbass captains, the doctor immobile on the grass.

How familiar.

How painful.

How nostalgic.

He awaits yet another sleepless night.

* * *

Day 2 – 8.30pm

The marines must have a lot of free time on their hands. So much so that they can send less than skilled soldiers to chase after more than skilled pirates, all of whom couldn't even be bothered to adhere to the basic courtesy of attacking when there's light.

His thoughts were interrupted by a random marine trying to launch himself on him. He swings his sword swiftly upwards to slice him across his chest, and topples him, whilst humming softly. Glancing up, he is aware that most of the marines have fallen, their commanding officer shot far from the ship in a Gomu-Gomu no Rocket.

He felt, maybe, slightly lethargic, fatigued.

Crack!

The sudden, sharp pain stabs through his leg. It tears like heavy friction, as if a sword was buried through the bone of his foot.

A sword is buried into his left foot.

Straight through his bones. Whilst he was standing still.

The pain registers like a slap. He is not so much surprised by the pain, but only that he does feel it.

It hurts.

He is aware that the fallen marine guilty of stabbing his foot was kicked off the ship by the cook, and that there is an extremely panicky furry doctor jumping around below him. "Ah! Brook! Your foot! Call a doctor!"

The tiny Zoan flails his hoofs around, the fact that he was the doctor seemed to slip his mind. "Erm... Chopper... You're the doctor..." the sniper was inclined to comment, from his hiding spot in the corner of course.

"Oh. Brook! Stay still! I'll have to pull out the sword!" the tiny doctor squeaks as he bends down, and turned into his larger form. He reached for the sword, smoothly pulling it out, rattling it slightly and causing painful friction to his bones.

But he feels it. That sharp, flaring pain.

The pain of living!

Is this not a dream? A vivid, realistic, beautiful, surreal dream? Will it not be gone the moment his eyes dare to shut?

"Brook! Are you alright? You need to come to the infirmary!"

The little doctor turns around. "Sanji! He needs milk! Bring two bottles to the infirmary!"

The skeleton is suddenly aware that he was being flung over the big doctor's shoulders. He still feels the pain.

It is nearly intoxicating.

"Yohohoho~! Don't worry, Chopper-san! The sword didn't even pierce the skin. Though I have none. Yohohoho~! Skull joke~!" he laughs over the big doctor's shoulders, watching as all the other crewmates visibly relaxed slightly.

The big doctor was, however, very insistent on bringing him to the infirmary. He complies.

He watches as the little doctor soaked his foot in milk, making it as good as new, even shinier maybe. He stares. The pain had left. All that remained was a numb feeling in his bones, and a slightly chilled feeling from the milk itself.

The pain was gone.

Was it also his vicious imagination that concocted such a hopeful feeling, only to snatch it away right after?

He smiles. "Yohohoho... Thank you, Chopper-san. You're a great doctor," he praises, reaching towards the side.

The doctor started blushing and dancing. "Bastard~! I'm not happy at all that you said I'm a great doctor~! You jerk~" The tiny doctor wiggles around, trying and failing to not be embarrassed at his praise.

The musician pulls out a guitar. "Allow me to show my gratitude though a beautiful song! Yohohoho~!" He drums his fingers down, producing a catchy tune that sounded through the infirmary doors.

He starts singing.

The pain. He had felt it.

Was this not a dream?

* * *

Day 2 – 10.00pm

The little doctor had insisted that he not place any weight on his previously injured foot, and even insisted on wrapping it. That seemed like such a waste of clean, sterilized bandages, but he wasn't inclined to comment.

There is no flesh to heal, no blood to clot, no wound to close.

Any evidence of a wound disappeared. As if that stabbing incident never happened.

As if it never existed.

Honestly, it was quite a waste.

"Brook! I said not to play with Luffy!" The tiny doctor dashes over, waving his hoofs around in what was supposed to be an angry manner.

He smiles. "Yohohoho. Don't worry, Chopper-san. It was merely a game of hide and seek. And my foot doesn't feel any pain!" he reasons. There is no pain. None at all.

"No! Stop playing and go sleep! Usopp and Luffy have first and second watch together so they are staying up! You just recovered from your injury so sleep!" the little deer insisted in that 'doctor' voice, one that no patient disobeyed apart from the swordsman.

He bends down slightly to pat the doctor on the head. "Yohohoho~! No worries! I'll go lie in bed now," he says, smiling as the little doctor beams.

He turns, heading toward the cabin door as he hears squeaks of "Rest your foot!" from behind.

He yawns. The moon is bright overhead, gleaming down as if to burn into his mind that this is surreal. He glances up.

The piercing shine from that full, whole moon is terribly, terribly bright.

He opens the door slowly, as if it might trouble the shadows and empty space within. No one has gone to bed yet. It's awfully empty. Still, he climbs up to his hammock, pulls the covers slightly over his legs. Laying down, he watches as the shadows above wave and dance randomly. The skeleton shifts his legs slightly, as if trying to pull forth some relieving measure of pain from his previously wounded foot.

There is none.

Could he have imagined it? The pain?

The door is lightly pushed open. There is that gentle tapping footsteps that originate from none other than the little doctor, first to arrive most probably to check if he was resting. The hammock sways, leaning slightly toward the right as the little doctor peeked in.

He stays still. The hammock is released, bouncing up lightly.

He supposes that being asleep would most likely put the little doctor's mind at ease, believing him to be sleeping off his non-existent injuries.

He hears the tapping footstep rhythm again, then the sound of much heavier boots scraping against the ground slowly dragged in, along with an undeniable clank of metal against metal, before a light thunk on the ground and the unmistakable and immediate snores of the swordsman leaning against the wall.

The tapping rhythm stopped short of the edge of the hammock, then a slightly heavier push and the hammock shakes, with the little doctor tugged in, gradually slowing to simple, gentle, inevitable swaying.

Almost immediately an unintentional stomping of bare, heavy feet echoes across the cabin. The hammock dips and bounces heavily as the shipwright climbs on.

The door is suddenly but lightly pulled shut, and the scraping of leather and metal against wood is prominent. The light but firm footsteps suddenly pause directly beside him, and traces of cigarettes smoke float directly over him, the cook bending over to observe him.

He stays still.

How strange.

He wonders what the cook is doing. Checking if he was asleep? The cook wouldn't be able to tell if he was awake. These empty eye sockets snatched that privilege away.

The cigarette scent is gone. He guesses that the cigarette had been tossed.

The cook tenses for a moment, cursing under his breath as he straightened. And maybe put out the cigarette. That moment passes and the footsteps resume, slowing down suddenly before reaching the hammocks. The planks creak a little. There is a pause.

He is curious. What is the cook doing-?

Shink. Clank!

"What the hell, aho-cook?!" a shout echoes through the cabin.

"Don't block the way by sleeping in front of my hammock, shitty-marimo!" The cook shouted back.

Clink! Shink! Clank! Thunk!

"Curlicue! Don't disturb people's sleep!" Chink!

"Then don't block the way with your marimo-head! Crap-swordsman!" Thunk!

"I wasn't blocking the way! Are you blind?! Dart-brow!" Clang!

Clink! Crash!

"Moss-brain!" Clank!

"Love-cook!" Shing!

"National treasure!" Creak! Crash!

"Magic-eyebrow!" Clank! Clink!

"Oi! There are people trying to sleep here! You guys are SUPER noisy!"

He blinks. The daily routines of the Strawhat crew. It's somewhat nostalgic. Like when he and his crewmates used to fight over nothing.

Those skeletons in that lovely grave.

Or are they in those dusty coffins?

His chest feels slightly empty. Though that might be because he has no chest! Skull joke~!

How nostalgic. His mind is cruel.

Soon the fight between the swordsman and the cook stops, due to the fact that the shipwright has threatened to call the navigator in. The whole crew, even the captain, knows how frightening a sleep-deprived and cranky navigator can get. Well, the swordsman isn't really frightened of her, but maybe of her fickle habit to suddenly add unreasonably reasonable interest to his already exceeding payable boundaries debt. Only maybe. And the cook isn't really frightened either, but prefers not to disturb his precious and gracious navigator with the annoyance of an uncultured moss-headed neanderthal. Soon the crew calms down, and they all turn in. Snores echo through the cabin.

He shuts his non-existent eyelids.

Sleep still doesn't come. He opens them again, and watches the shadows dance.

Maybe he can't sleep because he already is.

He stares.

He imagines Laboon. The little whale was around the size of a tiny boat when they left him. He wonders how large he has grown. Maybe as huge as a mountain? How large a mountain then?

He stares.

And stares.

The door slams open. Light shuffling of quick feet across the ground before the feet seemed to take a huge leap. "Zoro! It's your turn! Wake up!" the captain yells.

There is a slightly annoyed huff. "Oi, Luffy! I told you not to jump onto me!" the swordsman shouts, sounding a little annoyed.

"Alright Zoro-kun! The great captain Usopp now requires you to take over our gallant services!" the sniper says, trying to sound smug.

"Whatever, go sleep," the swordsman says, waving them off as he stood up, swords clanking slightly against each other.

The door is pushed open, then shut again. The captain and the sniper both hop into their beds simultaneously, as if not really caring about waking anyone up. Usually the sniper would be more careful, he muses. Must be because of the captain.

The hammocks rock from side to side as the two hop on. It's a wonder how no one seemed to be disturbed by the noise and movements.

He stares.

Today has been more eventful, he supposes. It almost seemed like three days already. How long has he been asleep on his broken ship?

He stares.

Sleep is cruel.

He yawns.

The sun should rise soon.

* * *

**Reviews are like cookies.**

**They taste good,**

**feel good,**

**make you addicted to them**

**and encourage you to work faster.**


	3. Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brook is the new nakama of the Strawhat crew. Isn't he? How does he adjust to knowing that there are and there will be nakama beside him? Or is this just his imagination?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! Qwaszxedc9 here! XD
> 
> Thanks for reading this~!
> 
> Reconstructed as of 05/01/2013 with thanks to Creative Advisor and Beta-Reader Brunetta6.
> 
> (Originally posted on fanfiction.net)

Day 3 – 6.30am

It seemed that whenever the swordsman took watch, it could almost be equivalent to having none at all. He would most likely be fast asleep throughout his entire watch.

That's what he arrived to find when he was asked to call the swordsman for breakfast. The swordsman snoring.

He is slightly jealous. Sleep seemed so peaceful, and cruel. Cruel enough to tempt him with something she knows he won't receive.

He squats down, his bones slightly heavy from fatigue. "Zoro-san, Sanji-san is calling for breakfast," he says, adding a hint of amusement into his tone.

The swordsman blinks. "Brook? Morning already?" he asks drowsily.

He nods. "Yes, Zoro-san," he replies, standing up.

He yawns. The swordsman blinks, then stares at him with narrowed eyes. "You're still awake?" the green-haired man asks, staring intently.

Would the swordsman be asking about whether he's been awake throughout the night, or would he be asking about whether he supposedly woke up early? Most likely the latter. He isn't sure how to answer that.

Why would it matter to his imagination anyway?

Moving toward the trapdoor, he bends over to push it up. He glances back. He smiles. Yes, it mattered not.

The swordsman frowns.

He yawns.

And he climbs down.

* * *

Day 3 – 3.00pm

It seems the archaeologist was right.

He watches as the captain's twitching body sinks slowly to the aquarium bed.

Somehow he is not surprised.

"...Ah, Robin-san, Franky-san? Luffy-san seems to have fallen into the aquarium again..." he states, watching as the sea creatures seem to ready themselves to attack the captain. Maybe in revenge for the captain always eating them, he muses.

The shipwright glances up from the pile of machinery before him, and his eyes scan the aquarium's glass walls, before falling upon the captain's slightly twitching body, then dropping back onto his work, wrench twisting the screws. A splash resounds.

"Leave it to haramaki-bro, skeleton-bro," the shipwright says passively, eyes not leaving the wrench. The swordsman once again swims toward the captain and drags him out, sending glares toward the sea creatures.

He stares, sipping his tea as he vaguely hears the flip of a page by elegant fingers, as well as tinkering sounds from dexterous hands. He hears the captain coughing, the swordsman sighing about idiot captains, as well as the archaeologist's nearly inaudible "fufufu~" as another page is flipped.

He doesn't feel surprise anymore. What he does feel is the care, the joy, the friendship.

The heart-wrenching hope.

The terrible hope.

This is a beautiful dream.

He remembers that.

* * *

Day 3 – 10.30pm

"It's going to be foggy for a few days," the navigator sighs, eyes squinting through the thick fog that had fallen. She turns to face the crew. "We're gonna have partner shifts instead, to be on the safe side. So pick a straw!" she adds, holding out a bundle of straws. The crew gathers around, and after a "che" from the swordsman and a "Hai, Nami-swan~!" from the cook, each person picks a straw.

"Okay, Brook and Usopp are on first watch, Chopper and I are on second watch, and Sanji and Zoro are on third watch. Got it, everyone?" the navigator says, holding up and examining the straws. The rest of the crew, excluding him, as well as the cook and swordsman growling at each other, nod and give sounds of agreement.

He lifts his teacup, sipping gently as he stares at the foggy surroundings, non-existent eyeballs searching through the fog.

He remains still.

Torture.

This is what it is. His mind's brilliant idea of how to destroy him.

Or maybe it's a reminder. That he has yet to escape. That he is still within that dark fog, wandering aimlessly around on his broken ship, with his crew's skeletons watching him… depending on him to bring that shell to Laboon.

Their last song.

Is this a reminder? That he should enjoy this dream while it lasts? That soon he would be back to wondering, waiting on his broken ship until he managed, by some miracle, to escape that fog?

Didn't he already escape that fog? With this crew? His previous crew's bones laid to rest in the beautiful grave?

Did he really?

"Brook?"

Noticing his lack of reply, the navigator turns toward his seated form on the bench of the main mast.

He stares back, still, unmoving.

"Brook, got it? Yours is first watch," the redhead says, eyebrow raised in question. The rest of the crew turns to stare at him, glints of worry seeping out of a few of them. He stares, completely silent.

Poot~! Buuuurp...

He holds the teacup steady. "Ah. Excuse me."

The navigator stomps toward him, fist held up menacingly, leaking murderous intent.

"Don't be so rude!" she screeches, pulling back her fist and delivering multiple, beginning-to-swell bruises on his bones. It's a wonder how his bruises managed to swell to enormous proportions, even though he was 'just bones.'

He did feel the pain.

"Oya, oya~! How harsh~!" he screeches in return, both palms cupping his bony cheeks as his jaw dropped low for dramatic effect. He could hear muffled snickers from the crew, as well as loud, untamed laughter from the captain.

"I wanna try it too!" the captain shouts enthusiastically, shifting his rear end up and attempting to squeeze some farts out. His efforts were thwarted by none other than the navigator.

"Don't you dare! One person doing that is more than enough!" the navigator screeches with a stunning likeness to a banshee, fist landing very heavily onto the captain's head.

"OWWWWW!"

"The rest of you, go sleep already!" she orders again, jabbing a finger in the direction of the men's cabin.

Sometimes it seemed as though the navigator were the captain of their little band of misfits, not the rubber boy. Murmurs of agreement were heard as the male portion of the crew began shuffling their feet toward the men's cabin. The archaeologist had already retired into the women's cabin, and the swordsman to the bird's nest. With a creak of the closing door and a thump of wood against wood, the door to the men's quarters was closed… almost as if leaving those stuck outside to their fate, in a slightly foreboding sense.

"Usopp, wake me up later for second watch," the navigator yawns as she tells the sniper. She rubs her eyes and turns to head up the stair toward the women's cabin.

"Got it! Leave it to the great me!" The sniper replies, punching a thumbs-up into the air, grinning widely. With a mumble of acknowledgment from the navigator, the door shifted open, then pulled shut.

That left the two of them there. Skeleton and sniper.

"So... Just you and me..." the sniper starts, awkwardly scratching a hand at the nape of the neck.

"Wanna keep watch together?" he finished, glancing at the skeleton with just a wee bit of fidgeting. Said skeleton looks up, dropping the teacup to his lap. Apparently the sniper's fear of skeletons has not fully disappeared. Being alone, in the sight-obscuring mist, with a moving skeleton is, of course, very much frightening.

He understands. He fully understands.

Drifting alone had allowed him to understand. Skeletons, ghosts, and spirits were something he was very much fearful of. He understands the sniper's fear.

There was a reason for staying out of the bathrooms.

He supposes the fact that the sniper's fear of skeletons had been toned down to mere fidgeting should actually be considered a real accomplishment! Having to see a hollow pair of eyes on a surface of pale ghost-white bone staring back is – how would you even know if they were looking at you? – quite frightening. The fact that the sniper even dares to stand so near him is admirable. He still hasn't overcome that fear himself.

There was a reason for a lack of mirrors.

He now has a hint of respect for the sniper, accomplishing what he has not, even if the credit still belongs to his mind.

His bony finger hooks onto the handle of his teacup, and he lifts it. "Yohohoho~! Certainly, Usopp-san."

* * *

Day 3 – 11.55pm

The night breeze chills, as though a slick knife was gently slicing a thin piece of flesh off his cheek. Not that he had any.

Yohohoho~! Skull joke~!

The fog seemed to be getting thicker, his outstretched fingers seemingly blending into the pale, smoke-like fog. Much like Florian Triangle.

That dark, dark place.

The fog seemed to be swirling around him, dancing and jeering in circles as he stood there, still. The surrounding brown railings faded into the mist, sealing him within its clinging, clutching fingers. The sniper had gone to the bathroom, after trying and failing to convince him to follow along.

He stood alone. Again.

He stares.

The fog faded off again, thankfully, and those brown railings reappeared, fading into view.

He stares.

That doesn't seem right.

Those brown railings. They don't seem new. Not golden brown.

He stares.

It's not new? Not light brown, but faded, black, rotting.

Old.

Broken.

He flinched, frozen. Those brown railings... Are they of his ship? Has he returned to his reality? His broken ship drifting in the dark, dark sea? His dead crewmates hidden away - but always around - almost as if watching him, waiting for their song to be delivered.

Is he back?

He stares.

The floorboards were rotting, the railing on the verge of breaking, the ground creaking with each subtle movement.

He stares.

It was true then - the beautifully concocted crew was but the fault of his own vicious mind.

It was all but a dream.

He smiles.

It was all but a dream.

He felt as if a large weight was lifted off his chest, and in its place a sharp stake - piercing.

Has he awakened?

The fog continued swirling around him, the railing mocking, the floorboards sneering. He had hoped the dream would last longer. Or maybe prove real…

It was true. This was all simply his own active – repulsive – imagination.

They weren't real.

He could feel his smile fading, a numb pain within his hollow eyes, screaming of tears that could not – would not – be shed.

They weren't real.

He couldn't move.

His limbs felt numb, frozen. His smile remained, stuck.

But… why? he wonders.

He had already accepted it. They were not - are not - real. Why did his nonexistent heart feel shattered into broken pieces?

Why?

The mind was merciless. Cruel. Terrifying.

Why?

He stares. It was all a lie.

He could feel his non-existent lips curling painfully… and he couldn't stop the laughter. So he didn't try.

"Yoho-Yoho-YoHOHOHOHO~~!"

He got out of that dream! That worthless, hopeless dream! That painfully hopeful dream! He was alone again! How interesting! How funny!

"YoHOHOhohoHOHO~!"

"Oi, Brook, are you alright?" a wary voice floated by from the side, slicing through the thick fog and rotting wood.

He blinked.

He must be hearing things again. Fifty years in a fog would do that to you.

"Oi, oi, Brook, what are you doing laughing to yourself?"

"Yohoho…?" his laughing trails off as he stares at what his imagination concocted solely for his sake. A long nose had appeared within his line of sight, flopping obnoxiously in his face.

To torture him.

He stares.

"Hey Brook, what's so funny?" the sniper's face appears within his vision, eyebrows furrowed and eyes curious with a gleam of – concern, no – fear.

What's so funny?

He stares.

It's hilarious how determined his mind is in destroying itself, how his mind had tricked him into thinking he had finally escaped~! It's hilarious how much hope his mind managed to build up before shattering it, then piecing them back together, leaving the cracks visible~!

It's hilarious how much longing his mind can conjure up!

It's hilarious how easily he fell for this dream!

"Yohohoho~! It's nothing, Usopp-san," he smiles, watching the sniper raise an eyebrow in suspicion.

It's hilarious how easily he falls for this dream…

* * *

**Reviews are like cookies.**

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**feel good,**

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	4. Day 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brook is the new nakama of the Strawhat crew. Isn't he? How does he adjust to knowing that there are and there will be nakama beside him? Or is this just his imagination?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! Qwaszxedc9 here! XD
> 
> Sorry for the super long wait. Thank you for waiting! I love you guys!
> 
> I'm supposed to be studying... Oh well.
> 
> Reconstructed as of 05/01/2013 with thanks to Creative Advisor and Beta-Reader Brunetta6.
> 
> Edited as of 20/05/2015 (I was busy sorry)
> 
> ENJOY!

Day 4 – 1.35am

He stares.

"Chopper-san, moshi moshi…" he whispers, shaking the little doctor's hammock gently. The furry doctor makes a tiny groan as he rolls over, turning away from the speaker.

"Your watch is next."

The tiny zoan pulls the blanket over himself.

"Please wake up~!"

The little reindeer groans again, pushing his head into the pillow, and rubbing his face with his hoofs. "Good morning~!" he adds, still shaking the hammock lightly as the cute doctor groans once more and rubs his hoofs over his eyes, blinking sleepily.

"URGGHHHHHH!" the hammock flips and the doctor slams headfirst into the ground.

He supposes that he shouldn't have woken the little doctor up in such a way – bony skull staring creepily at the doctor in the dark. It would have scared anyone.

"BROOK! DON"T SCARE ME LIKE THAT!" the little doctor shoots up and yells at the unmoving skeleton, flailing his hoofs around.

A few irritated grunts are heard in the background, as well as a soft whisper of "Nami-swan~" and a couple smacking of lips. He supposes they were quite loud. It's a wonder no one awoke from the tiny doctor's yell.

"Yohohoho. My apologies," he says, taking a step back to give the little zoan room to move. He really is sincere about this apology. If this had happened to him, he would have been terrified to death!

Oh, but he was already dead~! Yohohoho~! Skull joke~!

"Aah… what's the time now?" the doctor yawns, hoof over his mouth, previous trauma forgotten.

He wonders, is he asking about the time on his ship, in reality, or the time on this ship, in this hallucination? Dreams don't really follow an exact sequence of time, after all. He does see his crewmates alive every now and then when he sleeps, and it might be due to having the same boring dreams again and again that his mind decided to be  _generous_  and conjure up all these  _wonderful_  people.

He supposes the doctor is obviously asking about the latter.

"It's around 1:30am or so," he answers, tilting his head slightly toward the little reindeer. Said little reindeer nods and trots towards the door. A gentle creak of the door, a soft click, and the door was closed.

He turns to his side, heading toward his own hammock. Slowly, so as not to trouble anyone, he climbs into the hanging wooden box, sinks into the cushion, and pulls his blanket up.

He stares.

It has been confirmed, truly confirmed. None of this can be real. He knows he should wake up soon… no. He MUST wake up soon. The hope, the temptation to believe, the desire, the wish that this whole dream was real, was far, far too much to bear.

It's too much.

He has to wake up soon.

He needs to.

He has to.

The door creaks open clumsily, and shuts a wee bit too loudly. Footsteps sound across the ground. The sniper is not a stealthy person.

He nods.

Said sniper clumbers into the hammock, causing all the hammocks to bounce heavily, inciting a couple of sleep-disrupted-induced groans. There was a sudden pause as the sniper froze, waiting for the hammocks to still, before continuing the journey into the hammock. Once inside, a whip of cloth against cloth is heard and sniper immediately begins snoring.

His non-existent eyebrow rose. He never knew one could fall asleep so easily. He never could.

He stares.

The door gently creaks open again; he hears gentle tapping of hoofs across the floor. Then he hears a sound that resembled landing from a height. Rather loud, to be honest.

Hushed whispers came in the form of squeaks from the doctor. "Sanji! You're already awake? You might wake the others!"

"Nah, they're too heavily asleep to wake up. I might as well get a head start on breakfast since I'm up earlier," the cook replies, then a rustle of a jacket and he opens the door, closing it fast but gently. The doctor slowly tiptoed across the floor, then hops onto his bed with minimum rocking, before falling asleep almost immediately.

He stares.

Laying down on the hammock staring into blank space is actually really boring, especially without sleep looming over him. He sits up. The sun would rise soon, and he might as well get up earlier. Perhaps playing a few tunes in the morning would relieve him of his sleep deprived stress. Or maybe keep him in this lovely dream for just – merely – a tiny bit longer.

He rolls the blanket up, and places it below his pillow. Those memories of the beautiful taste of food, and that incredibly throbbing pain should have been enough to convince him – even if just a little – that this was not a dream.

It seemed like one though.

If he did succumb to sleep's pull, would he finally wake to find that it was but a dream? Surely this was a dream, a fantasy, a nightmare, taunting him while he rested in that shadowy, humid sea.

It wouldn't be the first time.

He lands lightly beside the hammock, and opens the door. Glancing around, he heads for the only other place, other than the bird's nest (probably the swordsman training at night), with lights on at the moment – the gallery.

The gallery door slides open and he steps in. The tantalizing aromas of frying foods invaded his senses.

He could smell it. That mouth-watering aroma.

He sits down. The cook glances up. He expected the cook to question as to why he supposedly awoke, or perhaps apologize for supposedly disturbing his non-existent sleep, or maybe enquire what foods he might prefer. He had an answer ready for them.

"Have you been sleeping?" the cook questions.

He hadn't expected that. "Excuse me?" He didn't have a ready answer.

The cook narrows his eyes. "I asked, you shitty skeleton, did you sleep at all?" he questions again, setting his pan down and turning towards him.

How should he answer that? In fact, how did the cook know? Yesterday? In the cabin?

Why would it matter?

Ah... Or was that question just asked to enquire about whether he had been awoken by the cook, back in the cabin?

"Yohohoho... No worries, Sanji-san. You didn't disturb my sleep, I was already awake," he replies. It should be what the question was asking.

But that didn't seem to be the case. The cook visibly frowns further. "No, that's not what I asked. I asked if you slept at all," the blonde says, eyes watching him closely.

He froze. What can he reply? What should he reply?

Why should it matter?

The cook sighs.

"Che. So you didn't." The cook straightens up and returns to preparing breakfast, adding the finishing touches.

He blinks.

"Yohohoho~! Why do you ask?" He is curious. Why would whether or not he slept affect his imagination? Maybe because they were real?

No, that's obviously not right.

The cook didn't even pause his cooking.

"Because, you shitty skeleton, we're not disappearing anytime soon," the blonde simply states, not even looking up from his finishing touches to the breakfast, as if it were so simple, so obvious.

He tensed.

"Sanji! Breakfast!"

A very recognizable voice slams open the door. The rubber captain comes bouncing in. The cook's veins pops. "Wait until I'm done! You shitty gomu!"

The captain goes flying out the gallery door from a powerful kick.

"Eh…? But I'm hungry now!" the captain complains, bouncing right back in.

He's not really listening closely anymore.

His mind keeps repeating those words, repeating them, repeating like a broken stereo.

_We're not disappearing anytime soon._

_We're not disappearing anytime soon._

…

Really?

That tiny, tiny, insignificant bit of hope, it returned to him, like a spark for a fire.

_We're not disappearing anytime soon._

_We're not disappearing anytime soon._

…

Really?

* * *

 

Day 4 – 11.00am

The fog had cleared, sunlight burning down.

He settles himself onto the bench in front of the mast, bony finger hooked around his half-empty teacup. Sipping gently, his non-existent pupils follow the outline the cheerful, energetic captain bouncing across the deck.

He stares.

"Zoro~! Come play catch with us!" the captain yells, hopping onto the swordsman as said swordsman jerks awake. The little doctor and the sniper hop across the deck to join the captain, arms swinging around.

"Luffy! Don't jump on me!" the now-awake swordsman growls half-heartedly.

"But Zoro~! Let's play!" the rubber captain pouts, as the other two move closer.

"Zoro! Can we play?" the little doctor squeaks, eyes almost sparkling.

"Yeah, yeah Zoro!" the sniper nods furiously, agreeing. The swordsman sighs, and shuts his eyes, leaning back.

"No way."

"Ehh? Zoro~ Come on! It'll be fun!" the captain rationalises, nodding, obviously convinced that his main reason for doing anything would persuade the swordsman into agreement. He was ignored, however. The sniper, in a moment of genius, thought of an excellent idea.

"Ne, Zoro, don't tell me…" the liar smirked, giving out tiny bursts of laughter. "You scared of losing?"

The swordsman jumped up at that, growling. "What did you say…?"

The sniper immediately twirls around, and dashes off, yelling at the top of his lungs, "Zoro's scared~!" The other two took that as some sort of signal, dashing off in a cloud of dust, the swordsman hot on all three's heels.

"Zoro's it!" the captain yells, laughing at the top of his lungs at the growling swordsman coming after him.

"Zoro's scary!" the little doctor screams, shifting into walk point to better escape from the fuming swordsman.

He stares.

Not real.

None of this, none of it, not the captain, or the swordsman, or the beautiful navigator, or any –  _any_ – of this wonderful crew were real. None. No one.

All a dream.

A magnificent, wondrous dream. But a dream nonetheless.

All but a dream.

_We're not disappearing any-_

He had to –  _has to_  – awaken soon.

This was too beautiful a dream. Too much hope, too much promise.

Far, far too much to bear.

_We're not disappearing-_

The spark of hope flickered within him, a mere glint shining through, before he crushed it mercilessly.

His nakama were gone. He thought he had come to terms with it, what with 50 years in a fog with all their bones scattered around, but apparently his mind hasn't. Now that he doesn't dream of his nakama anymore, he dreams of new nakama.

And he will awaken to find them all gone – new and old – all gone.

None of it was – is – real.

None of it, none of them. NOTHING.

He grips his teacup a bit too tightly, and the handle cracks, breaking off, the cup itself smashing into the green lawn, tea soaking into the grass, shattering into pieces.

Nothing.

Laboon… Yorki…

He has to – _needs_  to – awaken soon. And retrieve his shadow…

The corner of his eye catches sight of the ground, black with what is unmistakably his shadow.

It was back…? That part could also have been dream… Did he lose his shadow, or not?

Which part was real?

"Musician-san, I believe you dropped your cup." the archaeologist elegantly states, gracefully descending the flight of stairs on the left, staring at him.

He stares.

_We're not disappearing anytime soon._

_We're not disappearing-_

"Musician-san?" the archaeologist asks, moving towards him.

_-anytime soon._

_We're not disappearing-_

"Ah, forgive me. I hadn't noticed." he says, standing up before bending down to retrieve the shattered pieces. The archaeologist continues to watch him, eyes glinting with curiosity. Or is it concern?

"Musician-san, are you alright?" the historian questions, eyes fixed onto the skeleton kneeling to pick up each piece of his cup.

_-anytime soon._

They will disappear soon.

His wonderful dream-nakama was probably just telling him what he wished to hear.

"Yohohoho~ I'm perfectly fine, Robin-san." he hears himself saying, the archaeologist's stare burning an imaginary hole into his clothes.

Yes, he'll be perfectly fine.

As soon as he wakes up.

* * *

Day 4 – 10.30pm

They draw straws again.

It's becoming a routine, drawing straws every night (was it night?). He wonders how his mind came up with the idea of drawing straws. As far as he knows, no pirate crew ever did that.

The fog has returned.

"Brook, Luffy, you two have first watch, then Robin and Franky, then Zoro and Chopper." The navigator says, picking up all the draw straws and shuffling them back in her hand, probably for next time's use.

Will there be a next time? He can't really take much more of this.

"Man, you got first watch again? That's unlucky." The sniper says, peeking under his arm.

Unlucky. That's another word for it.

Or unfortunate.

Or maybe tragic.

"Brook, you have to watch over Luffy, okay?" The navigator says, sighing, "Don't let him jump overboard."

Almost ominous.

Foreboding.

It feels like the calm before the storm.

* * *

Day 4 – 11.50pm

The captain had decided to raid the kitchen.

He was hungry, the rubber boy had said.

Not that it was his concern.

Staring into the dark, misty sea, pitch black waves swimming around, swirling around the fog, attacking the base the ship, he squeezes his non-existent eyes shut, before opening them again.

The surroundings didn't change.

He needs to wake up.

But how?

How had he awoken from all his previous dreams?

Maybe, a shock?

Yes, a huge shock should work.

It was what woke him from previous dreams after all.

He leans over the railing, watching the dark waters swimming, resting his bony arms on the surface of the partition, tiny glints of light sparkling on the surface.

Yes. A shock.

He stares.

A shock. That's all.

He climbs over the rails, sitting on its surface, legs swinging out towards the sea, his hand firming hooked onto the barrier between the ship and the sea.

A shock and he would awaken. He would be rid of this worthless dream.

He stares, bending nearer toward the sea.

Just a shock and he would be able to continue trying and trying and trying to cross the Grandline, instead of roaming around in useless dreams.

He has to wake up. For Laboon.

He stares.

Just a shock.

He slowly stands up on the railing.

Just one shock.

He glances below.

One big shock.

He slowly closes his non-existent eyelids, and from the corner of his eye, he swears he spots an elegant eye printed on the wall far from him.

Just one big shock, and he'll be back on his ship, alone.

His eyes shut, and he takes a deep breath.

One shock, just one, and he'll be rid of this pointless dream.

He takes a step forward, not breathing, clutching tightly onto his cane sword.

Just one.

And he disappears over the railing.

"BROOK!"

* * *

**Reviews are like cookies.**

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**feel good,**

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT SORRY! ANGST FTW!


End file.
